The Beginning

And so another semester begins. Only 9 more to go until I actually have soemthing to show for all this crap. New courses, new school supplies, a new housemate. And, oh grascious, y'all, what a housemate! She's been living in Beverly Hills, but has now been 'called out' by God to live among the less-affluent. I guess that's us. ;-) And while, yes, we do technically live below the poverty line, it's only because we're currently racking up over $100,000 worth of debt to become certifiably over-educated. Also, she had to leave her last living situation becuase 'they weren't Real Christians.' Ohmygrascious. Heaven only Knows if we're 'Real Christians' or not. Still, Scary Roommate (see post: Why Roommate is so Wonderful) thinks New Housemate is the best thing since sliced bread. Maybe it's becuase she says things like "That's so rad!" and "She's so dope!" You never know, I guess some people like those phrases. ;-)
It's funny, because sometimes I'll start asking myself, is this really worth it? Is it really worth all this crap, all this schooling, all these housemates, all this therapy, for four measly letters, Psy.D., after my name? Is it really worth all the pain and suffering of living in ugly and unbreathable SoCal? So many times, all I want to do is run back to Texas, run back Home, back to where my friends are close by, where the things I know and love are. Sometimes I can almost taste it. But then I have moments like the one I had in class today: I grumble along, thinking about how much I hate school, I hate class, I hate SoCal, and then Dr. Porter says, "And this semester we'll be talking about the problem of Evil, the nature of human persons, and the existance of the Soul." (And yes, he really does say "Human Persons." It's like his favorite phrase.) And then I realize, there's (almost) no where else I'd rather be. Yes, I am so much of a nerd that discussing the existance of the soul actually sounds exciting to me, actually sparks something within me that makes me want to sit up and Listen! Sit up, and think, and feel, and do. So guess what, all you crap??? You can't get me down! Because, goshdarn it, I'm gonna be a psychologist, and I'm gonna be the best one I can be, and what's more, I'm gonna like it!
Because this is my call, and you can't mess with that.

You might be a Redneck if ...

So, Uncle Rico lives across the street. Admittedly, Uncle Rico is a little older, a little wiser, a little richer, but, hey!, it's been a couple years since he and Napoleon sold cheap tupperware, so he's moved up in the world. He finally gave up on football, gave up on that VW van, and moved himself on down to SoCal. Where he met other people just like him.
Uncle Rico has no need for the van. Now he has his own run down house, complete with a yard strewn with trash and old car parts, with plenty of space to fullfill his dreams: RV racing. Oh yes. His yard holds not one, but two vehicles up on cinder blocks (one of them being the RV), in addition to his four other vehicles, parked haphazardly on the lawn. When he gets home from work everday, complete with mechanic's uniform and embroidered name badge, Uncle Rico brushes his toupee-like hair, pulls off his shirt, and goes to work 'renovating' that RV, which he can't wait to go race in the desert with his buddies. Uncle Rico has no need to throw the football to get attention from the ladies, or anyone else. He just grabs a beer, shows off his (sagging) muscles, sends a lecherous glance towards the house full of hotties across the street, and works it on that RV. After all, what woman could resist that 70s hair style, or the hotness of an RV on cinderblocks? So, yes, Uncle Rico may still be a little "stuck in '82," but, make no mistake, all his wildest dreams are coming true, just like Pedro said.

It's funny because I go about my life, thinking I'm, well, somewhat ok, thinking that at least things will Be ok, someday. And then, something happens, and I am reminded all over again that the wound is still fresh, that the blood has scarcely dried. The reminder came this time out of the blue, completely unexpected, like a smog-free day in Southern California. Quick and heavy, straight for the gut, knocking me nearly breathless. I begin to ache again, like before, only now I have both an ache and a smarting, as though I have been slapped.
The blow is not something new. It is only a new manifestation of an old pain, a pain I should probably be embracing, but instead am running from as much as possible. And, worst of all, I really have no right to feel this pain. But, now that I feel it, everything is different. For a moment my world is changed, and every sight is different, from my car to my bed to the books beside it. Everything is now full of fresh pain, a fresh reminder.
It's times like these where I would love to escape, love to run far away from my life. Somewhere where, yes, there may be pain, but it is not mine.

New Orleans Holiday

So, I went and saw Last Holiday last night, which I was not particularly filled with desire to see. However, when somewhat suicidal friend e-mails and tell you she wants to see X movie (as long as it's not too depressing), well, that's what you see. I wasn't expecting much, and that's probably a good thing, but it really wasn't half bad. Of course, it was cheese, cheese, cheese, but not a bad kind of cheese, and, randomly, the main character's relationship with God was very well-portrayed, and, dare I say, rather nice and refreshing? For the most part, that part was h appily expempt from cheese. And, of course, Queen Latifah (sp?) movies are always nice b/c she's not exactly skinny, but you get to see her look so beautiful and happy, just the way she is. (Is she really that beautiful and happy in real life? I guess we'll never know.)
Anyway!, so, the other reason I really liked the movie was b/c it took place in New Olreans. Ok, it was so sad how excited I was when I finally figured this out. I almost leaned over and excitedly hissed, "It's in New Olreans!!!!" but then I thought better of it b/c I realized she has no reason to be excited about it taking place in New Olreans, and it would require a long explanation while something important was happening, and . . . not worth it. So, I was just quietly excited. And why, pray tell, did this make me so happy? Well, you see, Boy is from there. Boy is currently gutting and rebuilding a house that was flooded by Katrina there. N'awlins is Boy's home. (Btw, it made me really mad b/c no one in the movie even Bothered to Try to fake a New Olreanian accent, which, let me tell you, is something to hear. One of them said New OlrlEANS like they were taking about the Leaning Tower of Pisa, it LEANS. Ugh!)
Anyway, did I mention to you how much I love that city? This of course is simply becuase he loves that city more than anyone should ever love a city. ;-) But still he loves it, and still to me it is a magic place, a place where everything has a story, one for the city, and one for my baby. It is a place beautiful and run-down and charming, where you can feel the history steep into your bones, and laugh as he takes you down Scary and Immoral Bourbon street and tells you funny stories about the Houses of Sin. It is a place with beautiful old mansions, full of mystery, to gaze at while he takes you, for the hundreth time, down St. Charles so you can see them again. It is a place where people have welcomed me with open arms, always so happy to see me, always warm and accepting, even in the middle of difficulty. Which certainly makes me wonder why I ever thought it was a good idea to give up my opportunity to live in that magical place. ;-)
Yes, it was just a movie. Yes, if I lived there, it wouldn't hold the same mythical power. But I love that city nonetheless, the city that is his home.

Voices

Mmmm, a wee bit stressed right now! My head is full of voices (no, not those kind of voices!), voices and sounds that tell me what to do, and what not to do, and who I am in the first place. Here's a small sampling:
~"Fifty five pounds! Fifty five pounds!" This is the voice, coming from gosh-knows where, taunting me with the fact that I am now 55 pounds over weight. (Well, 54, if you must know, but then, you weren't asking, were you?) The weight hisess at me from my encumbered arms, cackles at me from my rolly middle, and openly gufaws from my enormous back-side. "Fifty five pounds!" it taunts. Next Monday, I'm going to see a fancy-schmancy nutritionist (whose other office is in Beverly Hills, which makes me laugh), because I'm at my wits end about the whole thing. Which is why I'm going to let her charge me (my parents) an obscenely large amount of moeny. Dear God, I need help.
~"Cha-ching!" That's what Sally Mae is saying. (I'm not really sure if Sally Mae actually makes a whole lot of money off of student loans, but at this rate, it sure feels that way!) Kids, at the end of all this crap, I'll be more than $100,000 in debt. That thought makes me almost want to fall over. How will I ever repay it?? Espescially if I keep buying this much coffee at Starbucks??? (Ok, I'm so proud, tho, in the last weeka and a half, I've only been to Starbucks once, and out for coffee like three times total. Considering I used to go once a day, I"m Way Proud.) So, basically, I'm screwed.
~"Ten New Voicemails!" My cell is positiviely over-run with calls. This might not happen if I would actually answer the phone. But, here's the thing. Here's the thing I just hate about myself right now, that I just can't stand: I long So Much for connection with others, a nd yet I'm too afraid to answer the damn phone. So, the anxiety builds and builds and so do the voice messages, and peoeple get madder and madder and more and more frustrated b/c I havne't returned their calls, and, still!, I stare at the phone! I hate it!!! But I think I hate myself more for not answering it. Eleven new voicemails!
~"Tick-tock, Tick-tock." I know, I know, I know. I'm much, Much, MUCH too young to be even Thinking Tick-tock. Here's the thing: when you come from a conservative Christian circle that values marriage and motherhood above all else; when your closest friends are getting married sometime soon; when all you really want is a family; when you've never flipping ever had sex: TICK-TOCK. I'm so happy for my friends, and this is nothing against them, but sometimes its hard to think about weddings and bridesmaids and showers because, well, I want that right now, and it ain't happnin'. Or at least part of wants it. And, ummm, yeah, Tick-Tock.
~And finally, that small, cold, creeping voice inside me that whispers, so subtly, and yet so loudly I feel like everyone must know: "Anna, you are utterly and radically alone. Alone, alone, alone. And it will always be this way."

Ummm, maybe it's time I go see my therapist, whadya think? ;-)

Mountain High

So, sorry for not posting much, it's been kind of a downer week, and sometimes, when I"m down, it's hard to post. What with being alone in SoCal, going back to school, and a hard therapy session, I was down for the count. But I"m better now. ;-)
I could write about my limited journey as a Baby-Therapist, but I'm not feeling that so much right now, so instead I'll tell you about my experience of beauty yesterday.
I got out of class and then went to lunch w/ some classmates (woohoo, go me for begin social!), took my walk, and then . . . I had the itch to Go Somewhere. The smog had accumulated in SoCal once again, so I could barely see the next ridge over, much less the mountains to the north, but a few days before there had been No Smog and so I could see these Gorgeous mountains reaching towards the sky, one even with snow on top. So . . . I went. I got out my map of LA and drove north, towards the mountains, towards the light brown sections of the map where no streets or highways marred the landscape.
I never even made it all the way to the mountains. But my journey towards them was so full of beauty, gazing at the mountains as they became clearer and more distinct through the smog and filled more and more of my windshield. I just made it to the foot of the mountains before I had to turn around and go back, but being at the foot, gazing up at them, gave me such a sense of peace, and beauty, and relaxation, such as I have not felt for quite some time.
When Roommate was here, she and I went to the sea, and it was utterly beautiful, but the sea does not fill me with peace the way the mountains do. As I drove, I considered this, and, surpise surprise, I came up with an interesting psychological interpretation:
When I stand by the ocean, beuatiful as it is, I am filled with a deep and fundamental anxiety. There is a cold, creeping finger inside my chest that whispers it's not safe, whispers that if I'm not careful, the ocean will overtake me, will consume me, and I'll drown. By contrast, when I look at the mountains, I am filled with a deep and fundamental peace. Yes, the mountains are big and scary, and yes scary animals live there, like mountain lions and things. Yes, they go up and up and up. But then, they stop. The mountains have a clear, distinct border against the smoggy sky. Yes, they are large and powerful, but they have clear boundaries, I know where they begin and end, I can be certain that they will stop. They're rich brown dirt, warmed by the sun, is firm and steady. I can place my foot upon it and it will not move, but instead will bear me up; there is no danger it will rise around me and engulf me over my head.
Perhaps this says something about the kind of people and relationships I need in my life. I know I often feel like, if I'm not careful, I will be engulfed by my mother and our family in general, and that, if I put down my guard, I will soon be drowned and I myself will no longer exist. I do not mind strong people in my life, on the contrary, I would welcome some. But I need them to have firm boundaries, firm places where they begin and I end. I need to come to a place where I can have firm boundaries with everyone, like a rocky, tree-studded ridge. It is safe to be with mountain people, becuase I am me, and they are them, and there is no danger of the two of us mingling together until I cease to exist.

Duty

I'm feeling very smug and dutiful right now. Today, I completed one, two, three, four, five tasks, not all of which I was looking forward to, and made my own coffee instead of going out, to boot! I went to church (yeah, yeah, I know, it shouldn't feel like a duty, but still, it does), called my mother, went for a walk, mended fences with a classmate, and called Roommate's Finacee. Not that I Mind doing all these things, in fact, while doing them, they were all a pleasure, but getting up the umph was a bit hard, and now that I've done them, I feel like a very good girl indeed.
And I don't think this is a very good thing. I feel horrible, feeling like God and my friends are duties. But really, without a sense of duty, I don't think I'd have any relationships. It takes that dutiful sense to get over the stomach-turning hump of dialing the phone. (Yes, I really do hate it that much, my stomach really does turn.) In fact, there is probably only one person in the world I would call right now without some sense of duty, but I don't call him, because I'm not sure he really wants me to call. So, I sit here, not calling, imagining conversations in my head in which I am brilliant and witty, telling him all the little jokes and details of my life that I always forget or feel too stupid to say when I'm actually on the phone.
It's funny because, while a sense of duty does help me maintain friendships, no matter how dutiful I am, I can do nothing to help or change the things that really need helping and changing. I can pray until my knees are red, so dutiful!, but it seems to be of no avail for my father, who hasn't had a real job in Six Years. I can talk about marriage counseling till I'm blue in the face, but it doesn't mean my parents' marriage will get any better. I can nod in silent commiseration when a friend tells me she's been contemplating suicide, but no ammount of sympathy can keep her from actually going through with it.
So, I'll just do my duty, pray like hell, and hope someday, something finally happens.

Stark and Still

Well, here I am, back from my short hiatus in which Roommate came to visit and we drove up and down the Southern California coast twice. (Point Lomas is beuatiful, but be careful when driving around San Diego: once you accidentally get off the freeway, you're screwed, as there are no entrance ramps but lots of strip clubs with creative names like "Les Girls.") We also went wedding dress shopping (don't tell her mother) and I have been named Official Maid of Honor! Yay!!
We had a very good visit, but I'm already feeling a little down, a little lonely, a little everything. In the spirit of Mel's recent moodswing, I think I shall write a Random Post, featuring Random Reflections on school, the holidays, and life.
~ Parents, parents, parents. - What's a girl to do? I love them very much, truly, I do. So how is this love compatible with the anger and frustration I feel being around them? I suppose the better question would be, how is it not, since one is supposed to be able to handle people being good and bad at the same time.
I have a lot of trouble with this.
And I must assign blame for everything in their marriage. This is not boding well.
~ God, what is up with my father not having a job? What is this???? He hasnt' had a real job in almost six years. Six Years! That's a long time!!! And so the family finances spiral downwards, and he grows more and more depressed. And his alcohol consumption increases. Why, why, why??? I know it's not my place to know why, but, God, you're making it really hard to believe in your Provident goodness at the moment!!
~ Shall we talk about how fat I am? I don't think so. We all know how bad it is, anyway.
~ The worst kind of being alone is being alone with someone else. You talk with them, laugh with them, debate with them, tell funny stories, feel the brush of their sleeve on your arm, and Still, you are utterly alone. When you feel lonely by yourself, you can fool yourself into thinking that you are not a lonely person at all, and if someone else was there, then you would feel perfectly happy. But when you are with another and still feel as tho you are the only person, standing stark and still on a deserted planet, then you know what lonliness is.
~I am in between two worlds right now, in so many capacities. I do not belong anywhere. I am still thinking of being at home, still missing them, still missing my sweet puppy and all my familiar places, but here I am, sitting in the library in California because the internet at my house doesn't work. My heart is at my undergrad, all it's important questions and concerns, the horrors of departmental politics and ugly architecture. But here I am, again, in this brand spankin' new library, with smoggy California sunshine outside. Many of my friends are getting married, starting some new happiness, crossing over into a different world. But now I sit here, quiet and alone, with all the drudge of four and a half more years of schooling before me. It seems as tho I will Never graduate, Never be part of the 'real world,' but, really, why should it matter? It is not as tho I will magically no longer be alone when I have Dr. in frong of my name.
Believe me, ambition is no substitute for relationship.

A Little Down (But trying not to be)

So, after all the fuss I always make about going home, and how I'm scared,etc., the irony is that now, of course, I don't want to leave. I'm kinda sad about leaving, and not really looking forward to SoCal either. Blech.
When I leave tomorrow, we [the family] will all be sad. I Can't Stand Them, but we will all be sad, my dog espescially. She'll look at me with her big, brown eyes, and then look mournfully at my suitcases, and then gaze back sadly at me again. Often times when I leave, she tries to climb up in the trunk of the car, or into my seat, even tho she hates car rides with every fiber of her being. My doggy is sick again, and, so I feel extra sad leaving her. The vet thinks we may have to put her down, our sweet little miracle-dog who beat cancer already. Hasn't she already had her share of suffering? Hasn't she, God??? And now this, a benign tumor that's all through her back leg, and cutting off her circulation, so that it must be removed, but the vet doesn't see how, even if they amputated her leg. I'm pretty sad about it. She's my prescious girl, you know.
Then, you know, there's the usual self-centered complaints: I'm wretchedly, disgustingly fat, etc. I could go on and on, but I think you've heard enough of that already.
Admittedly, it doesn't help that Roommate was going to visit me in SoCal starting tomorrow afternoon; it would soften the blow of going back. However, and it's totally not her fault, she can't come till Tuesday night, and I'm inordinatedly bummed about it. It's not long to wait! And I'm spending the whole summer with her! But I miss her, and as it stands now, I have to face 24 hours of SoCal by myself.
Finally, it's been hard without Boyfriend during the holidays. I miss him terribly. I miss his laugh, his smile that seems just for me, to share a private joke. I miss the way he helps me to see good in a situation, and to laugh at myself. I could use a joke right about now. I miss shopping for him at Christmas, and opening the huge package full of Christmas gifts he sent me every year. I just miss him. A Lot. And I want to see him soooooooo much . . . . And, altho I hope to see him this summer, well, that's a long way away.
So I'll just sit here now, and wish I could cry, and hope I fall asleep on the plane tommorrow.